( and just like that, he’s gone. almost as if he’d never been there, just another rêverie among many. a spasm runs through his now-bereft arm, and it lifts, movement aborted mid-thought; there’s a threshold here that cannot be crossed. it’s more than a habit now, too practiced. it’s a self-made jail, a bit like the grim picture wei wuxian is painting, and lan wangji swallows as bile rises, a twitch in his jaw.
hanguang-jun does know better, and not unlike him, sometimes, he wishes for the glacial dispositions of his youth. but ice melts, replaced by a flame that never wavers, burning raw now, under the same cracked veneer. wei wuxian doesn’t belong in the dirt. wei wuxian is not the fearsome beast they made him believe he is, either, regardless of his faults, and it’s a bitter tang on lan wangji’s tongue. )
Wei Ying. ( this is void of rancor, a soft sigh around the last syllable, laced with an ache that won’t subside. ) Misfortune wears many guises. ( and not all of them are meant to be lessons. some, certainly, but just how long are you supposed to pay, when you’ve been cornered from the start, given no choice? his gaze drops, thin-lipped as he breathes out. ) Hearsay, or precepts, should not smother. ( both of them, victims of a given reputation; one bright, the other dark, neither of which fully deserved. like a prison. who would lan wangji be now, if wei wuxian hadn’t barged in and painted his monochrome world multicolored? who can he be, beyond what he’s already learned, and all the things he wishes to become?
when will wei wuxian take notice of his own worth, and see himself undistorted?
lan wangji risks a glance sideways, a sliver of bravery. ) We must learn to break free.
no subject
hanguang-jun does know better, and not unlike him, sometimes, he wishes for the glacial dispositions of his youth. but ice melts, replaced by a flame that never wavers, burning raw now, under the same cracked veneer. wei wuxian doesn’t belong in the dirt. wei wuxian is not the fearsome beast they made him believe he is, either, regardless of his faults, and it’s a bitter tang on lan wangji’s tongue. )
Wei Ying. ( this is void of rancor, a soft sigh around the last syllable, laced with an ache that won’t subside. ) Misfortune wears many guises. ( and not all of them are meant to be lessons. some, certainly, but just how long are you supposed to pay, when you’ve been cornered from the start, given no choice? his gaze drops, thin-lipped as he breathes out. ) Hearsay, or precepts, should not smother. ( both of them, victims of a given reputation; one bright, the other dark, neither of which fully deserved. like a prison. who would lan wangji be now, if wei wuxian hadn’t barged in and painted his monochrome world multicolored? who can he be, beyond what he’s already learned, and all the things he wishes to become?
when will wei wuxian take notice of his own worth, and see himself undistorted?
lan wangji risks a glance sideways, a sliver of bravery. ) We must learn to break free.